MANHATTAN, NY - The publisher returned to his penthouse following a tryst with his Manhattan mistress and unfortunately for her, Donald arrived in a sour, drunken mood. The fingernail scratches down one side of Donald's face were the reason the mistress was not battered any worse than she was. Donald would call his attorney first thing in the morning to take care of the legal consequences he recognized would follow. The publisher had, by now, become an expert in matters of assault and battery.
The reason for Donald's drunkenness was the midday meal with investors at the club; it did not go well. The demands that he seriously entertain an unsolicited buyout offer from an unrevealed investment company enraged him to no end, and for the better part of the afternoon Donald spent his time in the bar getting drunk.
The only thing positive to come of the luncheon, outside putting off the creditors, was the knowledge that there was now a potential threat who wanted to join the party and it had not taken him long to find out the son-of-a-bitch, Dr. Victor Magnason, possessed the resources to pull it off. Donald's conclusion like it or not, was he must come face to face with his rivals. Donald needed to be aware of how big a threat the man posed.
The three publishing families had been adversaries for nearly three quarters of a century, but the turf wars of old were now largely settled. That, however, did not stop each new generation from seeking to gain marketshare at the expense of the others. They remained, from a business perspective, competitors in the truest sense of the word. The only thing that prevented the news moguls from tearing each other's throats out when in the same room was their obligatory need to come to a consensus on which politicians they, and in turn their news businesses, would back in regional and national elections. Beyond elections, their ideology drove all other issues. Not in over half a century, since the appearance of the television set, had the families needed to fend off a threat to their monopoly.
It was the turn of the twentieth century, and there were two last remaining obstacles preventing today's news moguls from controlling the news industry. One of the impediments was a single remaining holdout, The Daily, and the other was their ideology, which did not lend itself to selling papers. The news barons reacted to the bigger issue, creating broader appeal, by founding schools like the Columbia School of Journalism, or the Medill School of Journalism at Northwestern.
Graduates from these diploma mills were said by academia to prove journalists were no longer the biased ideologues of the past, no, they were said to be professionals guided by principles of the highest calling. Rigorous watchdogs of those in power, they were there to ferret out the truth from lies and to provide the American people with a wide range of informed positions on the important issues of the day. In reality, the schools were turning out highly trained propagandists, indoctrinated with one single set of beliefs. One only had to look at the agenda of the Democrats to understand what those beliefs were.
Today, the art of propaganda was very well developed and the publishers were in a real position to change the nature of the country. It was an industry dominated by dictators from whose lofty perches controlled not only ‘what,’ ‘how,’ ‘when,’ but ‘if’ information would be disseminated to the rubes of the American public. They picked society's winners, and losers.
The first response from Shmuel Weisser and Jason Simon was as Donald expected given the animosity each held for one another. Besides, a forum would take time away from the festivities of the forthcoming celebratory gala. Donald could be quite persuasive, however, and the gathering was arranged.
One week later, Donald found the two publishers sitting on opposite sides of the mahogany table in the reserved conference room of the Harvard Club. Jason Simon was seated reading the front page headlines of his paper, American News. Shmuel Weisser, Chairperson of World Tribune, sat across from him blowing smoke rings.
Donald suspected they both received the same offer and he needed to be confident they weren’t planning to do something stupid. The face-to-face meeting with Magnason proved to him the man was a real threat, a real ‘street fighter.’
Shmuel was the first to acknowledge Donald’s arrival. “Good of you to make it. You’re almost on time, Donald.” Shmuel leaned back into his chair and took one more drag off his unfiltered cigarette.
Shmuel Weisser stood about five-foot six-inches and was a little taller than Donald Abraham, albeit he had a straighter appearing posture. Shmuel had a strong protruding, cleft chin hidden by a closely cropped beard. What gave him his most characteristic touch, however, was his head of thick, wavy, white hair, which sat upon his stocky body.
Shmuel, like Donald, grew up in the sixties. His family’s legacy in the news business began with his grandfather who had been alive during the Progressive Era and who was instrumental in getting the socialist Jim Wilson into office. Shmuel’s father had been a member of the Willingbee Society, Marxists by any other name. The present-day patriarch was a cut of the same cloth.
Donald walked over to the stocked bar and after pouring a single malt scotch over a couple of ice cubes and with a sigh added, “I must say it’s good to see my old friends.”
Jason sat quietly, intent on reading his headlines until the discussions began in earnest. Jason was handsome and appeared young for his age. At thirty-seven, he looked like a punk kid next to the other two men. Jason was trim, had straight golden hair, penetrating brown eyes, and was the most educated of the group; he held a master’s degree in journalism and political science from Yale University; however, this accounted for little in his present company. Everyone in the room could be classified as geniuses. Each had an IQ of 170 or higher. Jason was not only the youngest of the group, he was a newbie to management. His elder brother's untimely death put Jason in charge of the family business.
Jason spoke up, “I was just reading the polling coming from the DNC.” The Democratic National Committee (DNC) was the organization responsible for providing national coordination of the party agenda, election strategy and fundraising efforts. It also provided the means by which party leaders colluded behind the scenes with the media.
Donald answered while glancing briefly at Shmuel who had the same condescending look on his face. "Jason, we've already seen the numbers."
“Never mind then! So, what was so damn important?”
Donald took his seat and then a sip from his glass before shifting his gaze onto the two publishers. Slightly tilting his head the WNN owner responded, “I received a visit from a venture capital company, MEI. I was curious if the two of you received corresponding invitations?”
There were several moments of silence.
Jason replied first, “That’s really none of your damn business, Donald.”
“Okay, Jason, let me rephrase it this way, I hope you’re not stupid enough to entertain their goddamn offer!”
“Fuck off, Donald.”
“Look damn it, I know you both had the same meetings.”
“Okay, so what?” responded Jason. “What if I did?”
Shmuel responded, “You’d be a damn fool to give their offer any serious consideration.”
“When did you get the call, Jason?” asked the WNN publisher. Donald understood the newbie was not really the committed ideologue his sibling had been. He was nothing like his brother; Jason was a spoiled, rotten kid.
"Three, or four days ago,” answered Jason with a sulking look.
The two men turned their gaze to Shmuel who briskly responded, “Four days ago? I received a visit one week ago, I’m sure from the same guy you two met: Dr. Victor Magnason."
Donald now asked, “So does anyone here have any idea why he would want to buy one of us out?"
Shmuel laughed, “I don't care, but I seriously question his sanity.”
“I don’t know, have you seen the financials of our companies lately? They’re damn near rock bottom.”
Shmuel smiled, “Yea, so they are, but I’ve heard some of us are in an even tighter fix with the c
reditors.”
Donald responded angrily, “Look you fool, you’re going to find yourself in the same boat soon enough, so just cut the bullshit.”
“Why the hell couldn’t we have just discussed this over the phone,” Jason asked, getting tired already of the hostile banter.
“Because, Jason, Donald doesn’t trust us,” responded Shmuel. “So, what kind of offer did you get, Don?”
“Fair market value plus a ten percent kicker.”
“It’s a bit odd you’re being so forthright with us Donald. Are you sure it wasn’t a twenty-five percent bump?”
“You got twenty-five?” asked Donald in an unbelieving tone.
“Like I said, Donald, some of us have racked up a little too much debt.”
“You goddamn asshole,” Donald viciously responded.
Shmuel ignored the insult. “Just the same, my financial advisors are telling me I should really give his offer some consequential deliberation.”
Jason responded, “Surely, you're not going to take that advice?"
Smiling, Shmuel answered, "No, probably not, but what about the two of you? What are you thinking about doing?"
Jason replied first, "Nothing, Magnason must be aware that my family would at no time entertain an offer to sell out, so what is the point? All I can come up with is the man might have been convinced it was a good time to score, but was too naive to consider we like what we’re doing. I'm staying put right where I am.”
Donald's face became more hardened as he stood from his chair and walked over to the window looking out on downtown Manhattan. “You know, something just occurred to me. Magnason’s buyout offer to us was timed such that we had an offer in less than two weeks.” Donald turned to face the other publishers.
“The misfortune is that things aren’t going so well for us, but I don’t imagine that’s his reason for being interested. I think his interest is a sign that we are going to have a new competitor soon. Given our weakened state, it would be a great time for an aggressive player to enter into the fray and shake things up.”
The World News Network publisher retook his seat as the two guys remained quiet. Donald kept going, “I am convinced Mr. Magnason’s inquiry was simply a warning shot across the bow. Have the two of you looked into who and what he is?”
Jason answered, “Yes, he’s nothing more than a low life that got lucky.”
Shmuel now asked, "What's his political persuasion?"
Jason responded, "Far Right."
Donald now interjected, “Doesn’t it strike either of you as odd that Magnason made the offers to us at nearly the same time, as if the man wasn’t expecting anything to come of it, almost like he was testing the water?”
Jason replied, “So, what.”
“Because you novice, conservatism sells. Just look at what that damn cable news network, RHO, is doing to us. It’s kicking the shit out of our primetime programming, right?”
Shmuel spoke up, “Okay, so what if Magnason sees an opportunity in the market. Even with all his money, he would be risking everything if he were contemplating creating a news company. The investment would take years to recover. Am I missing something?”
Donald stirred the ice around the glass with his finger, “I think Mr. Magnason has something else in mind. That man, that CEO, that rogue might have wanted to make sure he didn’t have to go through the effort if he didn’t have to. That is my guess. No, I don’t believe our little rebuff is going to stop Dr. Victor Magnason.”
MOLE
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